30,000 Feet
by patient zero
Summary: Roy Harper on a flight home to his wife on Valentine's Day. Title and interior lyrics courtesy of Assemblage 23. I don't own anything but the muse who prompted this story.


Six years. Sometimes it felt like it was just yesterday – other days, a lifetime ago. Roy smiled slightly and adjusted the shoulder strap of his bag, letting his eyes absently rove over the other passengers in the line. The sun was just barely cresting the horizon, the dim light glinting off the huge windows of the terminal, the usual buzz of noise somehow diminished. It was almost solemn, and Roy felt very much at peace, even juggling his coffee and his shiny new paperback.

Six years since he'd traded in his League membership for a ring and forever. He'd deserved it – they both had – the chance at living like normal people. Not that he or Donna stuck to it. Sometimes, the urge to hero just got too strong, or there was some huge crisis that required their involvement. But for the most part, the Harpers had settled into a comfortable, normal, mundane sort of life. A flutter of warmth sprang to existence in his chest as he thought of Donna. His love. His wife. His forever.

Roy's musings were cut short as he presented his ticket and driver's license to the pretty flight attendant, flashing her such a smile that she blushed. Hey, he was married, not dead. Donna understood the harmless flirting; he couldn't help it, really. Pretty girls made him smile. It wasn't his fault they were always so charmed by him.

Cleared, he trundled down the collapsible hallway towards the plane, sipping his coffee and adjusting the strap once more. He presented his ticket a second time to another flight attendant, an older woman who blushed just the same when he said good morning and smiled. The cheerful lady pointed him towards his seat, and Roy ambled down the aisle to his position. Harper Securities could afford a first-class, so he'd splurged for himself. Sometimes the extra leg room was worth the price.

But then again it was a special day. Valentine's morning, and he'd chosen the ass-crack-of-dawn flight so he could be home in time to take Donna out. Ollie and Dinah had agreed to take the kids – Ollie insisted that he was too old for shenanigans, but Roy knew he just wanted to dote on the kids. Little Ollie and Gina had ol' Granpa Ollie wrapped around their little fingers, which Lian took advantage of as much as any dutiful older sister would. They'd likely make him take them to F.A.O. Schwartz, or to the Watchtower so they could visit the rest of their extended family. Roy would have to do something nice for the old man soon, to pay back all the free babysitting.

Situated, Roy watched the other passengers filter in. It seemed a small flight – he supposed that most folks didn't want to get up two hours early to catch a six in the morning flight. Roy hadn't slept, figuring the flight would give him ample time to catch a nap on the way home. Being a passenger was still a little strange for him; he always expected to wake up and find Grace shaking him to take his turn at the wheel, so to speak. But now that he was an entrepreneur, he had to take the civilian route. A selfish part of him had to admit, letting someone else do all the work was kind of nice.

The coffee was gone by the time they were taking off – after a short delay with the engines or something -- and Roy fell into his paperback. He'd missed out on The Da Vinci Code phenomenon back in the day, and he felt it was better late than never to find out what the fuss was about. It was beginning to catch his interest by the time the attendants came around with what passed for breakfast. He'd thanked the woman, the older one from earlier, whose name was Joyce. He'd paused with his book to chat with her, discovering she'd just become a grandmother, and her youngest boy was starting Yale in the fall. She also gave him a warning about the teenaged years, which Roy laughed at. Not in a derisive way, oh no, but he already knew he was going to have his hands full once the kids were old enough to want to rebel. He was prepared, he assured Joyce, who'd smiled in a way that said she didn't think he really was.

The morning passed uneventfully, and he finally nodded off a third of the way through the book, its pages crumpled against his chest. He dreamt of the kids, older and touting super hero names, chasing down the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man with Slim Jims. It eventually turned to Donna, and became less innocent. Unfortunately he was jolted awake, the plane lurching strangely and hard enough to make him drop the book.

A little groggy, he rubbed his eyes and looked around at his fellow passengers. Some had also been asleep, but a few others looked a little worried. The captain announced it was just a bit of turbulence, but Roy caught a hint of something else in his voice. What had delayed them earlier? He couldn't quite remember, and looked to see if Joyce or one of the other attendants could tell him what was up.

The plane gave another almighty lurch, and a skittish woman in coach actually gave a little scream before the plane went still. This was a 737, no slouch, but to Roy it felt like they were in a puddle jumper. The minutes dragged by, host to several more bouts of turbulence. Roy lifted the window to peer out, then stared in mute disbelief.

That was smoke.

Something was wrong.

The other passengers were starting to make demands, to ask questions no one had answers to yet. Roy closed his eyes and let out a breath. Nothing to be worried about. He saw a harried, pale Joyce stumble by, and offered her a comforting look; she gave him a tight smile in return, but her eyes were wide with anxiety.

A low-pitched whining began to permeate the cabin, and panic was starting to rise amongst the passengers. The co-pilot's voice broke through the noise to ask for everyone to be calm and remain seated. His voice was brittle and strained, and to Roy the situation was turning grim. Something was very wrong here.

Somewhere in coach, a man shouted out that an engine on the left wing – the one Roy had spotted, no doubt – was actually on fire. The cabin lights flickered and went out, turning the interior into a dark cave of ensuing terror. Minutes dragged on before they returned, sluggishly, blinking here and there.

It was then the captain made his announcement. A hush swept over the people as he explained what was wrong, what was happening to them. Then the words no one ever wanted to hear came over the P.A., delivered by a man who sounded on the verge of tears.

Cries of outrage and fear broke the silence, some people sobbing. Roy clutched the arms of his chair until his knuckles went white. He glanced down, eyes fixating on the plain band of gold around his finger, jaw clenching. Donna. Today was supposed to be special. He'd bought her a lovely pendant – and the kids, he'd found them great toys, stuff they would have loved.

Involuntarily, Roy turned to the half-open window, expecting a flash of red cape on the horizon. Clark, Karen, Kara, anyone. John, maybe? Kyle? But nothing, no one appeared, and all Roy could see outside of the plane was clouds. He noted their descent, though, the sharp angle the plane was falling in. Errantly, he hoped to see someone, anyone, swooping in.

No one came.

The lights went out again.

Roy squeezed his eyes tight, willing himself to keep his frustrated tears in check. He unbuckled his safety belt in a hurry and stood, grabbing onto the seat to keep his footing as the plane shifted to the right. Bracing himself, he opened the overhead compartment, ignoring the Versace bag that slipped out and nearly rebounded off his head. The other passengers were loud now, but it was all so much white noise to him. He grabbed his bag and dropped back into his seat, tearing it open and pawing through its contents.

He may have given up Red Arrow, but they'd insisted he keep their tech. The thing was cell phone-sized, but was so much more than that. However, Roy didn't need it for anything super high-tech now. He ignored the special buttons, the various gadgets and gewgaws that would have made any self-proclaimed science nerd wet himself.

Roy just wanted to call his wife.

He dialed their home number, ear pressed to the receiver, eyes staring out to watch the clouds go diagonal; to see the engines smoke, sputter and die while it rang. The machine picked up – THE GODDAMN MACHINE PICKED UP – but by now a cold feeling had seeped into Roy's chest. Resolve made his face stoic, and acceptance dropped his eyes to his lap. Utter and complete sadness infused his voice, a quiet thing in the dark, accompanied by the tear-filled prayers of his fellow passengers.

He spoke to the answering machine after it played the Harpers' cheerful message, his voice subdued. He explained what was happening. He apologized. He closed his eyes and just talked, knowing in his heart that these were likely his last words, the last time his beloved family would ever hear his voice. He paused only a few times, to collect his thoughts, to try and desperately find the words that would express what he felt.

Something discharged over his head and slapped into his face. He ignored it, paid no attention to the renewed panic of the others. The plane lurched one last, puissant time, and Roy slammed into the side of the cabin, head cracking against the glass, the conduit to his loved ones falling away from numbed fingers. His world went black, and his last thought was _Oh, Donna._

Donna Troy-Harper, known to many as Troia, to others as Wonder Girl, deposited her keys on the foyer table as she shut the door behind her. The babies were with Ollie, delighted to see their adopted granpa as always. Ollie spoiled those kids, but Donna didn't really mind. It made everyone happy, and no harm was done. She kicked off her sneakers and nudged them towards the other pairs of shoes by the stairs, then shrugged out of her coat. Once that was in the closet, she stretched and went upstairs, running slender fingers though her hair.

Anticipation made her stomach fill with butterflies. She and Roy hadn't had a night alone in forever – well, it seemed a long time, even though it really wasn't. She passed a picture of them in Boston on the stairs, pausing to smile at it. She had shoved her ice cream into his face, and Dinah had obligingly recorded the moment for posterity. Donna actually giggled, fondly remembering what had spurred the attack, and Roy's subsequent reaction. Six years married, and they still acted like they were fresh from their honeymoon. Their love had not diminished in the slightest, and she never expected it to. She loved that man with all her heart and soul. He had given her a beautiful girl and boy, and shared his darling Lian. This was the happiest she'd ever been in her life, just being a mother and a wife.

Donna continued up the stairs to their bedroom, peeling off her sweatshirt and jeans. She felt gross, all sweaty after chasing the kids around, and then chasing Ollie chasing the kids. But it was a good kind of gross, one that put a smile on her face. Besides, she'd just get sweaty again later, once Roy was home, no doubt. Her smile turned a little naughty with that thought. Grabbing her robe, she ducked into the shower had gave herself a good scrubbing, humming some song she'd heard on the radio on the drive home. Dinner at that little Japanese place on Lexington, and then a movie at the Royal. He'd made some hints about a special surprise, and she had demanded hints, but Roy had proven quite stubborn. He'd be home soon, she just had to hold out a bit longer.

Hair wrapped in a towel, Donna knotted her robe's belt and reentered the bedroom. She went to the closet and searched through the clothes for something suiting the occasion. Nothing too fancy, of course, but she wanted to remind him of how good he had it. Not every man could land an Amazon princess. It took a certain sort, and Roy more than filled the bill.

Drying her hair, Donna turned and only then noticed the light on the answering machine blinking. She'd been gone a few hours; it could be Kory, about their girl-time for Saturday. Or Roy – maybe the flight had been delayed? She hoped not. Crossing the room, she tapped the button and sat on the edge of the bed, toweling her hair as the machine began to play the messages. One from Kory, affirming the lunch date. One from Mia, saying she could take the kids to school Monday morning for them. The third message began with static, and Donna paused to look up.

"_Hello, if you're there, pick up the phone. I'm calling from 30,000 feet above you. The captain's just informed us that our plane is going down, so I'm calling for one last time to say I love you."_

There was a pause, and his voice faded slightly. _"I'm not certain how much time I may have left, so I'll be brief. I'm sorry if this message only amplifies your grief, but I couldn't bear the burden of never having said goodbye. And the pain you feel, I promise you, will go away with time."_

_"I'm sorry I won¹t be there to see our children grow,"_ he continued, his voice breaking. _"Please tell them that I loved them more than they will ever know. Tell my family and friends how much I loved them all as well, I'm sure that we will meet again, but only time will tell."_

The pause was longer now, and the message was breaking up. _"I'm sorry most of all I won¹t be there when you grow old, to be there by your side and keep you warm when you are cold. Forgive me, but I think my time is drawing to a close, so I've one last thing to tell you now before I have to go . . .  
_  
_"I... --"_

It went dead.

The towel lay forgotten in her hands, her cheeks wet with tears she hadn't even realized had started. She bolted to her feet and slapped the machine, to replay the message, and with fists clenched and pressed to her mouth she endured the agony of hearing his voice, so contorted, coming from that soulless machine a second time.

Legs unable to support her any longer, she sank back down onto the bed, head hanging, hugging herself tightly, ears deaf to the subsequent messages of an airline official, calls from concerned friends, from the police, from Diana telling her that people were looking for Roy. But the coldness in her chest, the hollow feeling where her heart once was, was evidence enough for Donna.

The loud knocking at her front door ignored, she slid off the bed, buried her face in her hands, and just sobbed. She sobbed, curled into a ball, forehead pressed to her knees. She sobbed, limp body tilting over. She sobbed, cradled in the arms of her sister, her body so cold and lifeless.

She wept, because she would never see him again.


End file.
